


Mistletoe & Holly

by suethor



Series: our god is a consuming fire [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blind Date, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Father!Tommy Shelby, Holidays, Meeting the Parents, Mistletoe, Modern AU, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suethor/pseuds/suethor
Summary: I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.( holiday oneshot series )( tommy / oc )
Relationships: Ada Shelby & Original Female Character(s), Esme Shelby/John Shelby, John Shelby & Original Female Character(s), Polly Gray & Original Female Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Character(s), Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Series: our god is a consuming fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835836
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96





	1. Unwrapped

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this story is a spinoff/au series related to baptism by fire. if you want to understand it better, it may be best to start with that. otherwise, i think these should work well enough as standalones/tommy imagines. each chapter is a different unrelated oneshot, there isn't any continuity between them! 
> 
> updates will happen on even days of the month so that we can finish up on christmas eve. thank you so much for reading! i hope you are all having a wonderful winter and holiday season.

_𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠_. December 22nd, the last day before they close up the shop for holiday, John storms in and throws his hat down on the table. "What do women even _like?"_ he grumbles.

"Jewelry," Arthur supplies. "And sex."

"I've tried both of those," John complains. "She won't take jewelry that's not blessed by her family, and if I have it blessed by her family, they'll tell her, and then she'll get mad that the surprise's been spoiled." He looks up at where Tommy's mulling over some betting licenses, working on the London plan. "Tommy, what did you get for Beatrice, eh? I'll get Esme the same, and they can match."

"Get her a gun," Arthur suggests, laughing and rubbing at his mustache with his thumb.

John socks him in the shoulder. "Trixie might know how to handle that, but Esme'll just shoot me in the bloody balls if she gets her hands on a firearm. I think she's pregnant again, you know? She's got cravings for fruitcake for every fucking meal."

"So get her fruitcake," says Tommy, to distract from the fact that he hasn't actually gotten Beatrice a gift, because he doesn't know what she'll like. He's given her jewelry, before, and she's always been nice about it—wearing it a few times to make a point of her gratitude, but he knows she doesn't really care. Gun's not a bad idea, though—he rarely pays compliments to his older brother, and never in matters of Beatrice, but it almost makes sense.

"Fruitcake's cheap, she'll call me cheap," John complains. "I'm supposed to get her something that'll—that'll _last."_

Tommy doesn't care much about what Esme gets for Christmas, so he tries to go back to the London plans, but can't focus. Is it bad that he hasn't gotten a gift yet? It didn't _slip his mind,_ exactly—he didn't get this far by being forgetful—but it hadn't been a top priority with their expansion beginning with the New Year.

She's already gotten him something; the wrapped parcel is on the mantle in his house, with a tag that reads _Beloved Thomas — Yours, Beatrice_ and a red velvet ribbon. He thinks it's a pocketwatch, judging by the size and weight of the box, but he can't be sure.

There's enough time to get her a gun, he thinks. Barely. She's got a Smith & Wesson Model 10 now, and she uses it well, but it jams at inopportune moments from time to time, and well—he can't have her dying, now can he?

Tommy collects the papers and returns them to his portfolio, tucking it into his briefcase on his way out the door.

══ °• ♔ •° ══

𝑩𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, Birmingham is in the middle of a snowstorm unlike anything Tommy's ever seen. He's suddenly glad that Beatrice was delayed in coming over the night previous, or else they may have finished dinner early enough for her to return home, leaving her to trudge across the city to see him today. "Good morning," he says, his voice still rough.

He rarely sleeps, but if he does, it's when she's there with him. Miraculously, he spent a good portion of the night in slumber so deep that she was able to rise without stirring him.

Beatrice is standing at the window. "Hell's frozen over," she remarks.

"Is that a fact?"

"It _is_ a fact," she confirms. "And a funny one, at that."

He doesn't think much about how cold the room is until he's reached her and notices the goosebumps running up her arms. "Any other facts?"

"Baby Jesus was born today," she answers, turning to face him, lips quirking up slightly. "Hell's frozen over, and Christ the Savior is born. All at once." Beatrice reaches up and musses his hair a bit. "We have to meet Polly for Church soon."

"It isn't Sunday," he disagrees, moving to the dresser and pulling a shirt and trousers from the drawer. "No Church if it's not Sunday."

She rolls her eyes, but he doesn't stop buttoning up the shirt. After a moment, she collapses back onto the bed. "We could always say the car wouldn't start," she suggests. "The snow fucked up the engine, or something like that. And we couldn't walk because..."

"Because it's snowing," Tommy finishes. "And you've a cough, anyway, which would make it reckless to bring you outside."

Beatrice sits back up, faking a delicate cough. "No wonder we used to hate each other," she muses. "We're both incorrigible liars."

"Just liars?" he asks, shrugging his vest over his shoulders.

She gives him a wicked smile, but doesn't answer the question. "Do you want coffee? I hear it's good for a sore throat."

"Yeah," he says, though he never drinks it. She's got a habit of making too much, anyway, and then she feels guilty for throwing the rest of the pot out, so he does it for her most days.

When they're settled on the couch, he hands her a poorly wrapped box, and she passes him the parcel from the mantle. "The woman at the shop wrapped it," she says, before he can interject. "Obviously. You've seen my stapling work."

"Uneven?" he guesses.

She rolls her eyes again. "You didn't need to say it, I think we all knew what I was talking about."

"Right," he says, dubious.

He was right about her package being a pocketwatch. It's an Elgin model, brass, with a polished watch face that's already been set to be lined up with the rest of the clocks in the house. She looks pleased with herself when he replaces the watch in his pocket with the new one and presses a gentle kiss on her temple.

"It's heavy," she remarks of the box in her lap. "I'd guess books, but the weight is off."

"Not books," he confirms. She lifts it to her ear and shakes it a little. "Go on," Tommy insists. "Open it."

Beatrice raises an eyebrow, but does it anyway, tearing the paper from the box. Removing the lid, she peers over the brim and says, " _Oh."_ She plucks up the gun delicately, and runs her thumb over the carved handle. "Is this a message?"

"Yes," Tommy says, dead serious. "You're to shoot Arthur next time he starts singing at the Garrison."

"Yes sir," she says, saluting. "Actually, though. Are you asking me to do something?"

"I'm asking you not to die, Beatrice." She frowns; inspects the barrel. "Your gun is old. It jams. You got—"

"I know," she interrupts, hand going to the scar on her shoulder where the bullet exited. After a moment, she seems to come around, and runs her thumb along the carvings with more fascination than reluctance. "It's beautiful, Tom. Thank you."

She takes his hand and kisses his knuckles, and doesn't even complain that he's cold—which he knows he is, and which he knows she's annoyed by. "By accepting that, you know you're promising to shoot Arthur for the singing?"

Beatrice spins the chamber. "Of course," she says, smiling at the click of the revolver. "But you know I would've done that for free, right?" 

══ °• ♔ •° ══


	2. I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tommy. This better not be what I think it is."

“𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔.”

He rakes a hand over his face, because it is _exactly_ what she thinks it is. Beatrice is at their house, with their daughter, a hundred miles away. He _should_ be at their house, but instead he’s on the phone in his hotel room, in London. “The roads are closed.”

She’s quiet for a moment, before drawing a sigh. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she says.

“I know.” He lifts the receiver and moves to the bed. It’s almost midnight, now, and his driver is already asleep in a smaller room a few floors down.

“I am going to have two children waking me up at dawn tomorrow,” she continues. “And you’re in London.”

“I am.”

Beatrice _hmm_ s into the phone, and he can tell that she’s mad, but not as mad as she would’ve been if he’d risked it on the icy roads home. An unprecedented snowstorm is raging outside, and he can barely see the street from his window. “Fuck,” she says. “You promised you’d be home.”

Tommy sighs. “It’s supposed to let up in the morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You could let me sleep for a week,” she pronounces. “How’s Alfie?”

“Alfie’s good. Busy. Lot’s of baking for the holidays.”

“ _Right,”_ she drawls. “Baking. Suppose it makes sense for family gatherings. Can’t have too much bread.”

“It’s business,” Tommy dismisses. “He’s agreed to the contract, but refused to sign it on the grounds of the holiday.”

“Why does he care?”

“He doesn’t. He’s just buying time.”

“You should’ve let me talk to him,” Beatrice chides. “I’d’ve had things settled sooner. He likes to waste your time.”

“Next time I’ll send you.”

“Good.”

“How’s the little one?”

She laughs. “Sybil’s almost set the tree on fire. She wanted to show off what she’s learned in her ballet lessons, except the maids were lighting the candles at the same time, and she was one twirl away from a collision. “It’s fine, now. She wanted to stay up and wait for you, but I told her you were doing business with Santa Claus, and now you’re expected home with a bag of gifts.”

“Wasn’t that already the case?” he asks wryly.

“Well, in my original plan, you were actually going to be here with a bag of gifts.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “I’ll call the concierge and see if there are trains running.” He stands and peers out the window, but the snow hasn’t relented. At this rate, he might have to swim home, which is a fucking shame, because he never learned how.

“I miss you,” Beatrice admits.

“I’ve been gone a day,” he says, just to hear her say it again.

“A day too long. If you’d taken me with you, we could be snowed in together in that hotel room of yours... _celebrating.”_

“And who’s watching the girl?”

“She’s with John and Esme, of course. They won’t even notice, there are already so many children running around there.”

“Hmm.”

“You should call the concierge,” she reminds him. “See about the trains.”

“But then I’d have to get off this call,” he mumbles.

“I’ll hang up, then,” she challenges.

“Don’t hang up.”

“I’d rather have you home than stay on the phone with you.”

Tommy sighs. “We’ll see.”

It’s a risk, he knows; Beatrice wins games of chicken as often as she loses them, and when the line clicks off and her voice is replaced by the burn of the dial tone, he can’t say he’s entirely surprised. The warmth in his chest fades, and he reaches over to click off the call on his end. Tommy makes a deal with himself: if the trains are still running, he’ll pack his things and trudge through the snow to the station. If they’re not, he’ll call Beatrice back.

A few minutes later, he’s putting his coat back on and zipping up his briefcase. It’ll be hell outside, but he’s lived through that before. At least this time, there’s something sweet waiting for him on the other side. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [ tumblr ](http://suethor.tumblr.com) and check out [ my carrd ](http://suethor.carrd.co) for links to playlists, edits, and more! <3 thank you


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